


I'll Meet Your Eyes, I Mean This Forever

by AcidPaxel



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Fluff, Frank the florist, Gay, Gerard the baker, M/M, Mild Language, baker/florist au, emo babies, frerard fluff, its so fucking gay, really gay fluff, this shit is sickening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:49:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2266926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcidPaxel/pseuds/AcidPaxel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had never spoken more than five words to each other, and Gerard knew this for a fact, he had counted, but the baker was irrevocably in love with the florist boy. || Florist/Baker AU. It's so gay. So gay and fluffy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Meet Your Eyes, I Mean This Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Title credits to Demolition Lovers by My Chemical Romance.
> 
> I hope you like this :3 I had a lot of fun writing it. It's just a really short fluffy Au. I don't know where the idea came from.  
> Ack. It's so gay, guys.  
> -A.P.

            Gerard glanced up across the road, his eyes trailing over the customer’s shoulder to land on the large front window of Gremora’s Flowers, a small plant shop that was built around the same time as the bakery. Through the window he could see the salesman that worked the same hours as Gerard.

            He had never spoken to the guy, who looked around Gerard’s age, if maybe a couple years younger, but saw him every day. Twice on his breaks, where the two would stand beside each other, each drinking a coffee and holding a cigarette, only ever speaking to borrow forgotten lighters or to ask the time, and almost constantly in the hours between his breaks, stealing glimpses of the short black-haired man through their parallel windows and on his way home.

            They had never spoken more than five words to each other, and Gerard knew this for a fact, he had counted, but the baker was irrevocably in love with the florist boy. He loved him for the scorpion tattoo on his neck, for the way his eyebrows would crinkle as he tried to focus on doing inventory, for his adorable laugh he would occasionally hear, shining its way across the road. Gerard just wished he knew his name.

            It was then that Gerard realized that the customer had fallen silent and was staring at him with hindering annoyance, her distaste for his greasy black hair and black clothing already displayed when she first entered the shop now growing to blatant dislike. He ignored it, plastering a fake apology on his face and shaking off the last bit of his dreamlike state.  
            “I’m sorry miss, I zoned out, what were you saying?” She sneered.

            “Three chocolate cupcakes and an éclair. Please.” The please was lazily tacked onto the end of her request, as if she was begging for him to sense the snootiness and discontent written into her features. He just nodded, bustling behind the counters to collect her order from the long glass display cases, fitting it into one of the pink cardboard boxes, folding it up, and sealing it with the bakery’s sticker, a cake in the shape of a B. He handed it to her and she paid for it and left, not leaving any tips in the tip jar, which didn’t surprise him much. Not many people tipped Gerard.

            He glanced up again, hoping for his eyes to land on the florist’s laughing face. They did, but only as the florist boy was walking out, coffee and a pack of cigarettes clutched inside his lean tattooed fingers. Quickly he glanced at the clock—It was time for his break. _Shit._ He ran into the back office, not wanting to break his comfortable routine of creepily staring at the florist until his break was finished, grabbed the already-made coffee from his boss, Ray, who knew of his obsession, and vaulted over the front desk.

            Once outside he slowed his frantic sprint to a calm walk, almost tripping on his way to stand beside the florist. The man with the incredible facial lines, who’s picture was found covering almost every page in Gerard’s sketchbook. The florist glanced up, sending him a quick, adorable puppy dog smile, and lit his smoke. Gerard did the same.  
            _And this is how it goes,_ Gerard thought to himself, his hazel eyes already greedily travelling over the shorter man’s face, memorizing every detail from the adorable button nose to the eyes Gerard could drown in, _We proceed in silence for the next twenty minutes, and I can go back to not having a heart attack whenever I think he’s looking at me._

It was a comfortable routine.

            “Any deliveries lately?” The florist’s voice rang out hoarse and shaky, as if he were nervous, Gerard’s routine pitifully ripping itself apart. Gerard also noticed the shaking of his hand, which was jerking so violently that bits of coffee were spilling from his cup.

            “I— _What?_ ” Gerard’s heart spiralled into overdrive, a cold sweat breaking onto the back of his neck as he considered the idea of speaking, his mind screaming eight thousand repetitions of the word “NO” as his mouth moved to open. “Uh, no, why? Was something misaddressed to us or something?”

            _Please Gerard,_ his inner voice chided sarcastically, _please say “something” one more time, you sound so very intelligent._

            He was about to snap back a reply when the florist boy stuttered out a “never mind” and _literally ran back to his store away from Gerard._

 

*  *  *

 

            Frank’s skin was on fire. That’s what it felt like at least, his whole head and neck flaring up blood red.  
            When the boy with the greasy-black hair and lips to die for had exited the bakery, wearing the same ridiculous “Let me serve you!” name tag as always, he had expected _something._

  
            Part of him was waiting for the “ _What the fuck is wrong with you?! I’m not gay! Fucking faggot!”_ that he was used to getting whenever he accidentally hit on straight guys, but a distant, idealist, hopeful part was wondering whether maybe, just maybe, the mysterious baked-goods-salesman named Gerard would have noticed him back.

  
            What he _HADN’T_ been expecting was that the flowers hadn’t been delivered yet. So, when Gerard hadn’t commented on them, Frank did the only logical thing. He ran as far and fast as he could. Which was neither very far nor very fast, if he were to be honest with himself.

  
            When he got back to _Gremora’s_ he stormed into the back office, beet red and feeling as he had when he was sixteen, stepping onto the stage of his high-school talent show and forgetting every chord and lyric he had spent a month practicing.

  
            Bob, Frank's boss, broke of his conversation with their delivery boy, Mikey, to interpret Frank's terrible attempt at speaking.  
            “ _I JUST—AND GERARD—MIKEY DIDN’T—MORTIFIED, MIKEY!”_ Each word was broken only by unintelligible angry sputtering, showing just how articulate Frank got when he was frustrated, but Mikey understood, reddening.

            “You wanted those delivered… today… Right. Well, I may have forgotten to send my brother the two-dozen roses from a creepy stalker that works literally twenty-feet from where he works.” His voice started nervous but quickly replaced itself with the smirking sass that Frank was used to. “Frank if you really like Gerard then go _TALK_ to him, it’s not like I’m going to stop you.”

 

            Frank’s renewed angry sputtering was cut off by Bob’s uninterested, paternal voice. “Mikey, if he paid for those roses then we need to deliver them, company policy.”

 

            Frank let out a giant sigh of relief, to which Bob barked out a laugh, eyes wide and evil. “Sorry Frank, it’s Mikey’s day off, which means you’re the delivery boy today.”  
            It was not a good day.

  
  
*  *  *

 

            As the bell to the front door of the bakery jingled open Gerard let out a gloomily “ _I’ll be with you in a minute!”,_ cutting off Ray’s eighth attempt to comfort him and standing to get to the front room. He walked out of the office, his boss calling out “Maybe he wasn’t running from _YOU,_ Gerard!” which he assumed was meant to be supportive, but it wasn’t.

 

            Gerard spun around, a “how can I help you?” springing to his lips when he stopped, coming face to face with a bouquet of roses in place of a customer. “Uh-”

  
            “Delivery!” Frank almost shouted, cutting him off. Gerard froze, unsure of what to do or say, as the man he had been wishing he could talk to for the last six months was standing right before him, holding a bouquet of deep red roses.

  
            “Who are they from?” He asked, stupidly, realizing after he said it that he should have asked who they were _for._ It wouldn’t be the first time people had mistaken the address. He reached for them though, refusing to turn back now as it would just make him seem like more of an idiot.

  
            Frank turned scarlet again. He was blushing way too much around this guy. He hadn’t expected to be here for this, he had expected for Mikey to deliver them and for Gerard to just read who he was off of the card. So he bolted for the second time that day, shouting out a “There’s a note!” As the door swung shut beside him.

  
            He felt like an idiot, resting against the wall of the bakery for thirty seconds before starting in a jog towards Gremora’s. When he heard the jingling of the door opening behind him Frank broke into a full-out sprint, only to hear a yell, foot-falls slapping on the pavement behind him and a grunt before he felt an iron grip wrap around his wrist, turning him around to face a flushed Gerard.

  
            _Ohmygodhe’snotgayohmygodhe’spissedimgoingtodieohmygodohmygodohmygod._

 

            And then, with the same amount of nervousness, embarrassment, and giddy excitement that Frank felt every time their eyes met, Gerard said the only thing he could think of before pulling Frank into an excited, anxious kiss.

  
            “For god’s sakes, what is your _name_?!”


End file.
